


Shadows Are Not Always Darkness

by Buckets_Of_Stars



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Baby Peter Parker, Blood, Co-Parenting, Cute, Domestic Fluff, Fevers, Fluff, Gen, Hair Playing, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Irondad Bingo, Italian Tony Stark, Mama Bear Tony Stark, Minor Injuries, Nightmares, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is Tony Stark's Biological Child, Peter steals Tony's sweatshirts, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Relationships, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Scared Peter Parker, Sick Fic, Sick Peter Parker, Son Peter Parker, Stabbing, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, dad tony stark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2020-01-06 16:34:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18392177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buckets_Of_Stars/pseuds/Buckets_Of_Stars
Summary: Peter doesn't ask for trouble, trouble just kind of finds him, stalks him like a bloodhound until it's basically his second shadow. Tony doesn't ask for stress, stress just sort of follows him around, pads after him like a puppy turned spider-baby, until he's basically Tony's second shadow.Tony, somehow, learns to love and cherish his little stress inducing kid. Peter, on the other hand, just wants trouble to stop biting at his ankles.(Or, Leah's 25 IronDad Bingo Prompts)





	1. Prompt #1: FEVER

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! I hope you enjoy chapter one of my take on the IronDad Bingo and please let me know what you think! :D
> 
> This fic is inspired by the IronDad Bingo event taking place on Tumblr, you can find more information about it here: https://irondadbingo.tumblr.com 
> 
> I also decided to add a dialogue prompt I got before this. Submitted by @tonystarksintern: (Are you taking prompts? If yes then: “Can you please come and get me” If not then feel free to ignore :) :) If not, feel free to ignore). 
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Spider-Man or any related materials.

* * *

 When Peter got on the subway for school that morning, he knew he was in for a rough day. **  
**

 

His head was throbbing, the pain stretching down from his temples into his jaw, thumping throughout his whole skull. When he sits down into the seat, the chill of the metal seeping through his jeans, Peter tries to fight back a grimace.

 

His Dad hasn’t seen him. That was the only good thing that had happened this morning. Peter had managed to sneak out the door while Tony’s back was turned, the man too preoccupied with his daily cup of coffee to notice his son tip-toeing behind him.

 

Peter had celebrated that small victory, turning on the music in his ear buds and walking down the street, feeling hopeful that his headache would go away in a few minutes.

 

That was before the pain had become so sharp it was turning the whole world a dull shade of gray.

 

Sinking down further into his seat, the spiderling leans his head against the window and watches the world shoot past with blurry eyes.

 

 

* * *

 

“Peter?” Ned says, glancing behind him from where he sits closest to the chalkboard. “Peter?”

 

The boy’s head shoots up from where he was leaning on his arm, blinking as dark spots flicker in his vision. Rubbing at his head with one trembling hand, Peter picks up his pencil with his other.

 

“Yeah?” He says as he swallows, ignoring the worried look his best friend sends him.

 

“I’ve been calling your name for five minutes.” Ned says, pointing down at Peter’s desk. “Mr. Graves gave you your test.”

 

“O-Oh.” Peter licks his lips, staring down at his paper and watching as the numbers swarm. “Okay.”

 

“Are you sure you’re okay, dude?”

 

Peter nods, gritting his teeth as his skull throbs. “Fine. I promise.”

 

Ned frowns again, his eyes searching his friend’s face, before he turns around with a sigh. Peter relaxes once more, closing his eyes for a second and taking a deep breath. Letting the air out through his nose, the teen forces himself to put his pencil to the paper, trying in vain to ignore the pain that continues to stack up like a jenga game in his head.

 

 

* * *

 

By the time lunch rolls around, Peter can barely keep his eyes open.

 

He squints against the agony, practically stumbling into MJ while taking his usual seat at their table. The girl shoots him a look, practically glaring at him from over her book.

 

“You look like shit.” She says, flicking a stray hair from her face.

 

“Thanks.” Peter sighs, picking up his milk carton and trying to open it, his hands shaking. “Fuck.”

 

“Here,” Ned says, sitting down and pulling the cardboard from him. “I’ll get it. And thanks MJ, you’re so uplifting, I don’t know how you do it.”

 

“It’s a gift.” Crossing her legs, MJ sniffs. “Peter, if you don’t feel good, go to the nurse. I’m sure your dad wouldn’t mind picking you up.”

 

Peter doesn’t have the energy to sass back, but luckily Ned has his him covered. “Aw, I didn’t know you cared.”

 

MJ snorts, turning a page in her book. “I just don’t want to get sick, Nedward.”

 

Ned smiles, taking a bite of his potatoes. “Sure.”

 

Suddenly, as quick as lightning, the pain in Peter’s temples shoots up, sharp like a hot knife. He grunts, lifting up his trembling hands and tugging at his hair. Both MJ and Ned turn to stare at him, Ned in concern and MJ in confusion.

 

“Peter--” Ned starts to say, leaning over to rest his hand against Peter’s shoulder, but the boy jerks away from his friend. “Dude!”

 

Peter doesn’t respond, instead choosing to jump up and walk away, his legs trembling and his vision clouded with hot tears. He blinks them away, making his way down the impossibly long hallways, the tiles rocking under his feet.

 

By the time Peter makes it to the bathroom, the world has gone almost dark with pain. His chest jumps as he dry heaves, falling to his knees in an open stall. Faintly, he hears rapid footsteps behind him, but he doesn’t react, even when Ned begins to call his name again.

 

“I’m going to get the nurse.” Peter hears MJ say, before the bathroom door opens and shuts.

 

Peter barely has time to wonder why she was in the boy’s restroom in the first place before another sharp spike of pain has him crying out, curling up in a small ball with his head squashed between his legs. Ned’s hand on his shoulder has him flinching, his best friend’s round face pulled in worry when the spiderling forces himself to look up.

 

Ned must have seen something in his face because his grip tightens. “It’s okay, Pete. The nurse is coming, she can help.”

 

But Peter shakes his head, his curls falling into his eyes. He doesn’t have the energy to push them away. “No, no, I want my D-Dad.”

 

“I know, dude, I know, he’s coming.”

 

Peter doesn’t bother to argue, groaning as his skull burns and pulses under his skin. He gags again, his stomach jumping and Ned jumps a bit, moving to the side as the nurse shoves her way into the small space.

 

She says some things to Peter, pushes his hair back and presses her clammy hands against his forehead and neck, marking down on her clipboard and standing back up. Weakly, Peter reaches out and grabs her pant leg, not caring how young he looks.

 

“Please.” He says, voice ragged. “Please call my dad. Please, M-Mrs. Jones, please. I **need him to-to come and get me**.”

 

The nurse nods, her gray hair bobbing in her ponytail. “I am, Peter. I’m gonna have Ned help you to my office, alright?”

 

Waiting until Peter gives a jerky nod, Ned gently grasps his best friend under his arms, pulling him up and helping to steady the spiderling as he sways on his feet. Ducking his head in slight shame, Peter stares at his feet as they all walk down the empty hall, suddenly very thankful that next period has already started.

 

By the time they make it to the Nurses Office, Mrs. Jones has called Tony on her cell phone, the genius having given the woman the Tower’s personal phone number in case of emergencies. Sitting on the hard, plastic chair, Peter gives Ned a nod when the other boy holds out a half-filled styrofoam cup of water.

 

Peter takes small sips, his stomach rolling.

 

He doesn’t realize that he has blanked out until a familiar hand falls on his shoulder, jerking him into awareness, and he snaps his head up. Tony stands in front of him, decked out in what looks like a three piece suit and tie, his dark eyes clouded in tender concern.

 

“Dad--” Peter says, his throat closing up in an emotion that he can’t name.

 

“Hey, buddy.” Tony whispers back, reaching up to gently brush his son’s curls back, grimacing at the heat he can feel pouring off of the boy. “Heard you aren’t feeling so hot, huh?”

 

Peter just shakes his head, leaning into his father’s gentle touch with a whimper. Tony frowns even more, the lines deep around his eyes, before he reluctantly takes a step back to sign Peter out of school. Ned waves to the pair as the billionaire carefully pulls Peter to his feet, wrapping a supporting arm around his kid’s waist.

 

“Bye, Mr. Stark.” Ned says, reaching around them and opening the door, holding it so that both father and son can squeeze through. “I hope you feel better, Peter. I’ll grab all of your homework that you miss, dude.”

 

“Thanks, bro.” Peter whispers, reaching over to give his friend a shaky fist bump, while Tony just shoots the boy a grateful look. “Text me?”

 

“Duh! See you later, Pete.”

 

Then Peter and Tony make it outside, the mid-afternoon sun sending shooting jolts of pain up and down Peter’s skull and behind his eyes. Hiding his face in his dad’s chest with a whine, Peter allows the genius to lead him blindly to the car, his father tightening his grip with each pain filled sound Peter makes.

 

“Okay, _bambino_.” Tony says, his chest rumbling against Peter’s overheated cheek. “Let’s get you in the car--there we go, watch your head.”

 

Once situated, Peter shifts to the side so that his father can buckle him up, not having enough energy to even protest. Tony pauses for a split second to run soothing fingers through Peter’s curls, before shutting the door and walking over to the drivers side. Peter is immediately leaning over the center console, not caring as the leather digs into his side, once the genius is buckled into his own seat.  

 

“Hey, hey, bud.” Tony coos when the boy lets out a sob, cupping Peter’s face and pressing a series of scratty kisses against his forehead and temples. “It’s okay, baby. I’m here now, shh.”

 

“It hurts.” Peter whines, sniffling as his body jolts. “Dad, Dad, please, my head h-hurts _so bad_.”

 

“I know, Petey-Pie.” Another scratty kiss, this one right above Peter’s left eye. “We are gonna get you some nice medicine once we get home, I promise. Uncle Bruce is gonna hook you up, okay?”

 

Peter nods, clenching his eyes shut as they burn with tears. He reaches up, clutching at Tony’s suit jacket with a trembling hand, nuzzling even closer as his father starts the car. The engine rumbles, tires crunching over the gravel.

 

“Try and rest before we get home, kiddie.” Tony says after a few seconds, shifting gears as they stop at a traffic light. “I’ll wake you up.”

 

“I’m sorry.” Peter says instead, opening his eyes and looking down in shame as the billionaire shoots him a confused look. “I should have told you that-that I wasn’t feeling good. Before I-I left for school, I mean.”

 

Tony just sighs, reaching over to run a hand through the soft curls at the base of Peter’s neck. The boy leans into the touch despite himself, guilt and pain causing his insides to tingle like static.

 

“You’re right, you should have told me.” Tony presses the gas, both of them settling back into their seats as the car jolts forward a bit. “But, I think we can save the lecture for later, Bambi, alright?”

 

“But--”

 

“Don’t worry, Pete. I’m gonna chew you a new one for keeping things for me, trust me. Right now though, oh sweet Spider-Baby of mine, I want you to close your eyes and focus on getting better.”

 

Stifling a yawn, Peter lets out a small noise of agreement, cuddling impossibly closer and closes his eyes once more. The last thing he feels before he succumbs to the cool darkness of sleep is one last kiss, this one warm and gentle, settled on the throbbing pulse of his temple.

 


	2. Prompt #2: NIGHTMARES

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hell yeah, 2 boxes done in 2 days :D can I get a yeehaw? I hope you guys enjoy! <3

* * *

 

When Peter’s eyes snap open, the air around him feels stuffy and hot.

 

He kicks his covers off his legs, his whole body trembling. Sitting up, the boy reaches up to rub at his eyes, startled to find his face wet with tears.

 

Oh yeah. He’s crying. _He’s sobbing._

 

Now that he realizes this, Peter can’t keep his cries at bay. They jump up from his chest, crawl up his throat and tear his lungs out. Curling his legs, the spiderling presses his face against his knees, presses his forehead so hard that pain spreads from his temples. But Peter can’t seem to force himself to care.

 

He’s back under the rubble, back under the concrete and gravel, pinned by slabs of stone with no hope of rescue. No one to hear him scream.

 

A soft whimpers rises up, the darkness around him pressing, pinning him to his bed with enough force to crush bone and tear skin. He sucks in a gasping breath, tries to focus on the way the air around him smells of home; of the still wet paint on his science project and the slight breeze coming in from his cracked window.

 

The air smells like rain. It must have stormed earlier, the wind sweet.

 

It barely does anything to calm Peter’s nerves, however. There is only one thing--one person who can do that, and he is all the way down the hall.

 

The dark, long hallway, with only the shadows to keep him company.

 

Shifting on his bed, Peter sniffs, angry at himself. He’s Spider-Man for fuck’s sake. He shouldn’t be scared of the dark, or of his room, or being alone, caught up in his memories of dirt in his eyes and lungs, the rocks above him slowly falling closer as he struggles to breath and _oh god he can’t get out he can’t please please anyone please help he can’t breathe please Dad please. . ._

 

Letting out another deep sob, Peter finally makes his decision, throwing his legs over the side of the bed and shivering as the air makes contact with his bare skin.

 

He has just stood up, his legs nearly giving out from under him, when his bedroom door is ripped open.

 

“Peter?” Tony whispers, his face shrouded in a blue-tinged shadow. “Buddy, you okay?”

 

Peter just lets out another sob, taking a staggering step toward his father and reaching out with trembling hands. Tony doesn’t even hesitate, meeting his son in the middle and pulling him into his arms, making soothing sounds under his breath.

 

“Hey, hey.” Moving them both over to Peter’s bed, Tony sits them down, pulling the teen back against his chest. “What’s wrong, Petey-Pie? Are you hurt?”

 

“N-No.” Peter sobs, curling up further in his father’s arms and grabbing onto the man’s night shirt. “I’m not-not hurt.”

 

Reaching down to gently cup Peter’s face, Tony smooths his thumb across the boy’s red cheek. “Then what’s got you so worked up, _bambo_?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

“You know,” Tony says, brushing a stray curl from Peter’s forehead. “If I didn’t know any better, I would say that you’re lying.”

 

Peter just mashes his face even further against the genius’’s chest. “ ‘m not.”

 

Tony lets out a small laugh, running his fingers through the soft hair at the base of his son’s neck. Peter leans even further into the touch, blinking back more tears as they cloud his vision.

 

“Baby.” Tony whispers, his voice so tender that it makes the teen’s chest physically ache. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong, please, let me help you.”

 

Peter’s sobbing before he can even get another word out. He wails, grasping his father with a white knuckled grip, tugging the man so that he almost bent in half. Tony doesn’t protest, however, even when Peter knows that his collar is tugging at his neck, just curls his arms even further around the spiderling.

 

Tony makes soothing sounds in the back of his throat, his whole chest rumbling against Peter’s cheek. He uses the momentum of Peter’s tugs to lean his head down, pressing his lips against his child’s forehead and temples, rocking them both back and forth.

 

_“Chiudi gli occhi mio tesor,_

_Dolce amor, dolce amor,_

_Fa la nanna sul mio cuore,_

_Dolce amor, dolce amor._

_Fa la nanna sul mio cuore.”_

 

Tony’s voice is so soft, so gentle, that Peter can barely hear him over his own sobs, even with his enhanced hearing. The familiar tune, the sweet Italian words that had comforted him night after night, float through the air around them, encasing Peter. He begins to quiet after a few more seconds, listening as his dad continues to the next verse, his voice still as smooth as velvet.  

 

By the time the billionaire had finished the final line, Peter’s silent except for an occasional sniffle, curled up on his side with his head resting against his father’s thigh.

 

“There we go.” Tony mutters, twisting a curl in between his fingers, smiling gently down at the boy. “You feeling better there, kiddo?”

 

Peter nods. “A little.”

 

“Good.” Tony sighs, a harsh breath through his nose. “Think you can tell your old man what got you so worked up, hm? Or do I have to play 20 questions?”

 

“I got a building dropped on top of me.”

 

“Wait--” Leaning back, Tony reaches down and grips Peter’s chin, forcing the teen to look up at him through his lashes. “You _what?_ ”

 

Peter swallows, glancing away from the raw fear he can see clouding Tony’s dark eyes. “When I-I was, uh, fighting the Vulture, he d-dropped a warehouse on me.”

 

“Oh my god.” Tony says, voice breathless as he grips Peter tighter. “Oh my god, Peter. What-- I mean, h-how did you get out?”

 

“I pushed it off of me. I remembered what you told me after the ferry, um, accident and I pushed the building off me.”

 

Tony’s eyes reflect the glow of the reactor, shining a light blue, as he stares down at Peter in shock and self-loathing. His hands shake against Peter’s. “Fuck. _Fuck._ Baby, I am _so_ sorry, I should have never taken that suit from you, oh my god--”

Sitting up now, Peter reaches out and grabs the genius’s hands, resting them against his chest, right above him rapidly beating heart. “No. No, Dad, don’t you see? You _saved_ me. You taught me that there’s more to me than a suit.”

 

Tony just closes his eyes for a second, the lines around his mouth deepening as he frowns. Finally, he looks back at Peter. The love the spiderling sees reflected in the dark depths take the boy’s breath away.

 

“Is that what woke you up, buddy?” The man asks, brushing a quick kiss against Peter’s forehead when he nods. “You know that you can always come to me, okay?”

 

“Yeah-Yeah, I know. That’s where I was going w-when you opened my door.” Suddenly, Peter leans forward, blinking in confusion. “Wait. How did you know I was upset?”

 

“Call it my parental instinct.”

 

“Are you sure Friday didn’t help?”

 

“Yep.” Popping the ‘p’, Tony settles himself against Peter’s headboard, dragging his kid up with him so that the teen is snuggled against his side. “Pretty sure.”

 

“Uh-huh.” Peter laughs. “Hey, Friday--”

 

Tony reaches over to cover Peter’s mouth up with a hand, effectively cutting the boy off. “Uh, nope, we don’t need to bring Friday into this, she is probably asleep and--”

 

_“I don’t sleep, boss.”_

 

“She can’t sleep, Dad.”

 

Both Peter and the A.I say at the same time, causing Peter to burst out in laughter and for Tony to roll his eyes, ruffling his son’s hair before pulling Peter back to his original spot. The boy complies without complaint, still laughing.

 

“Okay, Spider-Baby, bedtime.”

 

“But--” Peter cuts himself off to yawn, blinking. “I’m not tired.”

 

“Sure, bud.”

“I’m not.” Another yawn, this one deeper and expands the boy’s whole chest.

 

“Go to sleep or I’ll sing again.”

 

Peter looks up at his father, watching as the man reaches down to pull up Peter’s discarded comforter and fits it around them. Snuggling further into the warmth, Peter tucks his legs under the blanket.

 

“Can you?” The young superhero asks. “Sing again, I mean?”

 

A kiss is pressed against Peter’s forehead, his dad’s chest rumbling like soft thunder underneath the teenager’s ear. The thump of Tony’s heart is soothing and Peter matches his breathing to it, a deep sigh ruffling the man’s nightshirt.

 

“Sure, _miele._ ” Tony answers, smoothing down Peter’s hair with one hand as he clutches the boy closer with his other. “Go to sleep.”

 

And Peter does. He falls into dreamland before Tony even begins the first verse, his father’s voice echoing through the soft darkness.

 

_Safe._


	3. Prompt #3: CO-PARENTING

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoy! :D Thank you for your support and I love you <3

* * *

 

“Peter, are you _sure_ you have your lunch?” **  
**

“ _Yes,_ Mr. Stark.”

 

“And you have an extra jacket? It gets cold in museums, kiddo. Remember the last time we went to the Air and Space Museum? You had to wear my jacket for the last half of the tour.”

 

Peter blows a raspberry, rolling his eyes at his father’s nagging. “Yeah, it’s in my bag. Can I _please_ get out of the car now?”

 

“Hold on, your hair is a mess–”

 

Ducking out from under Tony’s hand, Peter turns his pleading eyes on his aunt from where she sits in the passenger seat, the elder Parker turning around to smile at the spiderling. Her brown eyes are sparkling in mirth.

 

“Aunt May, please tell Mr. Stark that I’m fine.” Peter whines, making his eyes extra wide and jutting out his bottom lip a bit. “I have my toothbrush, extra clothes for the week, _and_ a jacket. I’m all good, I swear.”

 

May’s smiles turns teasing and she looks over Tony, the billionaire hiding his snort behind his hand. “Did you pack clean underwear?”

 

Peter’s face heats and he glances away as his mentor lets out a loud laugh, almost hitting his arm against the steering wheel as he chuckles. Shifting in his seat, the boy swallows.

 

“ _Yes._ ” The teen hisses. “Can I please go now? My class is waiting and Mr. Harrington will kill me if I’m late.”

 

Tony and May exchange a look in the knowing way parents do and Peter nearly groans in frustration, grabbing his bag from the floor and setting it on his lap. He taps his foot as he waits for the two adults to finish their silent conversation, chewing on his bottom lip.

 

Finally, May turns back around as Tony gets out of the car and walks to Peter’s side, grabbing the boy’s other night bag from the trunk. He shuts it with a bang that causes Peter to jump, nearly missing his aunt’s next words.

 

“Okay, baby, hop out, but don’t stand in the street. Watch for cars!”

 

“Finally!” Peter cheers as he jumps out, skidding a little in his haste. “That took forever.”

 

Tony settles him with a firm hand on his shoulder, reaching up to gently brush a curl from Peter’s forehead, his eyes soft. Peter leans into the touch even as he blushes, watching as May walks around his other side.

 

“Alright, _bambino_.” Tony says once Peter has settled his book bag over his shoulders. “Remember what we talked about: don’t talk to strangers, stay with your class, and absolutely no Spider-Manning.”

 

Peter sighs. “I know, Mr. Stark. I’m gonna be good, I promise.”

 

“You better, otherwise I’m going to fly all the way to D.C. and drag your sorry ass back home.”

 

Even with his harsh words, the man drags Peter into a hug, his grip tight and comforting. Peter leans against his dad, burying his face into Tony’s chest, his familiar smell dispelling an anxiety Peter didn’t even know existed. The man’s heartbeat is soothing and Peter allows himself to close his eyes and just enjoy being safe for a few more seconds.

 

Finally, the boy pulls back, allowing Tony to press one last kiss against his forehead before taking a step back and facing May. His aunt grins, pulling him into a hug that’s almost as tight as Tony’s, pressing a kiss in the same exact spot the billionaire did. Peter’s forehead is tingling by the time he steps away for good.

 

“Have fun, sweetheart.” May whispers, reaching over to gently straighten out Peter’s now wrinkled blue shirt. “Text us when you get to the hotel.”

 

“I will.” Peter says with a shrug. “It’s only two nights, after all. I’ll be fine.”

 

Tony almost doesn’t look convinced, but he nods anyways, reaching over to give Peter one last hair ruffle before handing the boy his final bag. “Text us anyways, buddy. Actually, call us, I want to hear about how nice this hotel is so I can upstage it.”

 

Peter laughs, turning to looks at the bright yellow bus parked a few yards away, waving to Ned as his best friend raises a hand in greeting, his bright smile visible from where Peter stands.

 

“Go on, honey.” May says, making a shooing motion with her hand. “Go have fun.”

 

Turning around with a skip, Peter has only made it a few steps away when Tony’s voice stops him. The boy turns around, a sassy report on his lips, but his father’s voice cuts him off and the remark dies out.

 

“We love you, _miele_.”

 

Swallowing, Peter blinks before grinning. “I love you guys too! See you in a few days.”

 

Then he runs to where Ned is still standing, taking his friends offered fist bump when the other boy holds his hand out. His round face is stretched in a smile and Peter feels his own grin begin to grow at the sight.

 

“Are you ready, dude?” Ned asks, stepping up into the bus. “This is gonna be epic.”

 

Peter looks back at May and Tony, both of his parents giving one last wave that Peter returns, his heart full and his body jittering in excitement. Looking back at Ned, Peter follows him on the bus, passing MJ as they take their seats in the back, Mr. Harrington marking them off the attendance sheet.

 

“Yeah,” Peter responds with a laugh as the bus pulls away. “Let’s do this.”

 


	4. Prompt #4: STABBING

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope ya'll enjoy prompt #4 :D thank you for all the support, I love you guys!

* * *

 

It isn’t until Peter is standing in the living room, his dad cupping his face with frantic worry, that the boy realizes how much blood actually covers the whole right side of his suit. 

 

“Peter?” Tony says, gripping him tighter as the boy just blinks. “What the actual  _ fuck _ happened to you?”

 

“Got s-stabbed.”

 

Tony’s eyes widen even further, his hands tightening around his son’s arm. “You got _ what _ ?!”

 

Peter opens his mouth to speak but the genius cuts his off, mauvoring them toward the bathroom with quick steps, his hold on his child never wavering even as the spiderling stumbles. 

 

“Just--Let’s get you cleaned up first.” Tony sighs, gently pushing Peter down so that he has no choice but to sit on the closed toilet seat, the plastic cold. “Don’t move, kiddo.” 

 

“Do-Do you want me to take the suit off?” As soon as Peter asks this, he knows it’s a dumb question, and quickly snaps his mouth closed. His face heats and he looks down. 

 

A warm hand cups his chin, Tony’s dark eyes soft as he gently tilts Peter’s face back up. “I can do it, buddy. We don’t know the extent of the damage and I don’t want you moving that much just let. Stay still and let me know if this hurts at all, alright?” 

 

Peter nods, gritting his teeth and tries to stay as still as possible as his father gently mauvors the still sticky suit off of the boy’s shoulders, letting out a cry when the man accidentally bumps into his injured arm.

 

“I’m sorry, Petey-Pie.” Tony whispers, running a hand through Peter’s hair in apology before reaching under the sink and grabbing a small washcloth and some soap. “Can you put your arm up a little?” 

 

Peter complies, sniffling. 

 

“Okay, buddy, this might sting a little. Just remember to stay still, alright?” Tony says before pressing the now wet cloth against the spiderling’s still bleeding shoulder. 

 

Peter jerks away a bit, a whine slipping past him as more tears fill his eyes. Tony makes soothing sounds under his breath, holding Peter in place with his other hand, gently swiping his thumb across his son’s arm in comfort. 

 

“Almost done,  _ bambo. _ ” The genius says, dabbing the wound a little more. “I know it hurts, I’m sorry, just a few more seconds.” 

 

“It’s o-okay.” Peter whispers, hissing as his arm throbs again. “Not your fault, Dad.” 

 

Tony just frowns, brows furrowed in concentration. His hands, which normally shake from all of his days working in the lab, are steady as he finishes cleaning the wound, wrapping up Peter’s arm in gauze. 

 

“All done, kiddie.” Tony finally says, straightening up. “I’m gonna get you some new clothes and then you can hop in the shower, get all that dirt and sweat off.” 

 

Peter just nods, glancing down in shame as the man washes his hands. God, he is such a idiot. Getting stabbed, when he told his dad that he would be more careful? It’s a wonder that Tony hasn’t started yelling at him yet. With a sigh, Peter glances up just as Tony walks out of the bathroom, the man’s dark eyes locking onto his for a second. 

 

Peter can’t tell what his dad is thinking. And that’s the worst part. 

 

By the time Tony walks back in, Peter has started the shower, the hot water causing steam to rise up and fog the mirror in a gray haze. Handing his son the clean clothes, Tony ruffles his hair before exiting, making sure to remind the boy to keep his right arm out of the spray. 

 

“I know, Dad.” Peter nods, not meeting the man’s eyes as Tony backs out of the room once again. “I’ll be out in a few minutes.” 

Peter takes the shortest shower of his life, scrubbing himself clean in a matter of 10 minutes. His arm is aching from having to hold it out of the spray of the water. 

 

Stepping out of the tub, the boy painstakingly dries himself off as best he can, slipping the clothes his dad got him on. It’s when he finally pulls the sweatshirt over his head, carefully threading his still throbbing arm through the hole, that the spiderling realizes it’s Tony’s. 

 

Warmth spreads through Peter’s chest, and he brings his hands up to his nose, inhaling his father’s comforting smell. 

 

When he walks into the kitchen, Tony is stirring a pot of what looks like chicken soup. The man turns around, however, at the sound of Peter’s footsteps. 

 

“Sit down, bud.” He instructs, point with his spoon toward the table. “How was your shower?”

 

“F-Fine.” Peter says, plopping down in the chair with a sigh. 

 

Tony sets down his spoon and walks over, gently brushing Peter’s curls back once he gets closer. The boy leans into the touch, swallowing. His dad just smiles down at him, taking a seat beside Peter and pulling the spiderlings chair a little closer so he can gently feel along Peter’s injured arm. 

 

“I talked to Bruce.” Tony mutters after a few seconds. “He said that you shouldn’t need stitches, but if it still hurts tomorrow, we should head down so he can take a look, just in case.” 

 

Peter nods, tucking his chin further against his chest. He can feel more than hear the sigh that expands his fathers chest, and the boy has to blink away the frustrated tears that cloud his eyes. He tries to turn away but a gentle hand under his chin stops him. Instead of leaning away, however, Peter melts into the touch, sniffling.  

 

“I’m sorry.” He whispers. “I-I know what you’re gonna say. That I shouldn’t have-have webbed home, that I should have contacted you first and waited u-until you came to get me.”

 

Tony squints down at him, his dark eyes reflecting the yellow light overhead. “What happened though,  _ bambo _ ?” 

 

“You mean, how did I get stabbed?”

 

Peter can tell that his dad has clenched his teeth, his face paling and his grip on Peter’s non-injured shoulder tightening. When he speaks, his voice is slightly rough around the edges, cutting through the air around them like a dull knife.

 

“Yeah, baby.” He says, smoothing down Peter’s hair with a shaking hand. “When--When you were stabbed.” 

 

“Well, uh, I was fighting this bad guy--he was trying to rob an old lady-- and w-when I had my back turned, one of his friends, they um, they came at me.” 

 

Peter sniffs, remembering the way the man had grabbed him, had pulled him to the ground and stabbed the knife into his shoulder. The red hot pain, like someone had poured lava down his arm, the heat burning and pulling at his flesh. He shivers and Tony’s grip tightens even more, helping to ground the boy to the present. 

 

“He stabbed me.” Peter says, voice hoarse. “He stabbed me and then they-they just. . .ran away. I tried t-to stand up and run after them but I wasn’t fast enough. I-I got a few feet before my arm hurt too much. Then I swang home.” 

 

Tony pulls Peter against his chest when the young Stark begins to sob, his whole body shaking. He curls his fists into his father’s night shirt, pulling the man down even further, feeling Tony wrap his arms around him. His dad’s heartbeat is soothing against Peter’s ear and he nuzzles closer, his tears staining the billionaire's shirt a darker blue. 

 

“Shh,” Tony whispers against his child’s hair, pressing his lips against Peter’s forehead and temples. He brushes away the spiderling’s tears with a thumb. “It’s alright, kiddo. Hey, hey everything’s okay now, shh, I’m right here, sweetheart, I’m here.”  

 

After a few more painful minutes of sobbing, the teen finally pulls back with a watery sniffle. Tony reaches over and grabs a tissue from the box on the counter, gently wiping away the snot and tears from his son’s red and puffy face. 

 

Peter just closes his eyes, leaning into the touch, soaking up the affection like a dying plant drinks water. 

 

“There you are.” Tony basically coos, cupping Peter’s chin and lifting his face up. 

 

His father’s eyes are like melted chocolate, all warm and gooey, as Peter blinks up at him and the boy feels his face begin to heat at the pure, parental affection he can see swimming around the depths. Tony presses a kiss against Peter’s forehead, letting his lips linger, before he pulls back. 

 

“I’ll tell Friday to contact the NYPD.” He says. “See if they can track down the fuckers before they get much further.” 

 

“Do y-you need the street name that I found them on?” Peter ask, already beginning to sit up. “Because I can, uh, I can remember--”

 

But Tony shakes his head, gently guiding his kid back towards his chest with a small laugh. “Nope, kiddie. I can check the suit’s log. Right now, Bambi, you can sit here and comfort me in my time of need.”

 

Peter frowns, sinking back against the genius. “But I was the one who was stabbed?” 

 

Tony’s grip tightens, the joke Peter expected him to make seeming to die in his throat. Instead, the man leans down and rests his chin on top of the boy’s head, his breath ruffling Peter’s soft curls. 

 

“Everytime--” Tony starts, his voice so choked up that he has to swallow, his chest jumping against Peter’s cheek. “ _ Every single time _ you get hurt and I’m not there to protect you. . . well, it feels like-like someone left me alive--”

 

“What--?” 

 

“Like they left me alive but broken. Shattered. Like they took away the very thing that makes me whole, my missing puzzle piece--half of my universe.” Tony shakes, once. “And that’s  _ you _ .”

 

Peter blinks away his tears, but more form and he has no choice but to cry once again. “I’m sorry--” He starts to say, but Tony cuts him off. 

 

“No.” He says firmly, leaning back so he can stare straight into Peter’s very soul. “ _ No. _ That’s not what I want. I just want you to promise me--  _ swear to me _ Peter, that you won’t do something like this again, because it might have just been a stab wound this time. Next time, we-we might not be so lucky.”  

 

The spiderling doesn’t even hesitate. “I promise.” 

 

“Good.” Tony says, leaning back with a sigh. “I love you,  _ il mio piccolo cuore _ .” 

 

“I love you too, Dad.” 

 

And when Tony finally stand up to finish dinner, when Peter smiles for the first time that night after jumping up onto the counter, leaning back out of reach of his father’s ear flick, the boy knows in his heart that he will do everything in his power to keep his promise. 


	5. Prompt #5: BABY PETER

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoy prompt 5 and thank you so much for all of your lovely support <3 you inspire me every single day :)

* * *

 

“Come on, buddy.” Tony whispers as he bounces his crying infant son in his arms. “Shh, shh. Hey, It’s okay, please stop crying, it’s been 2 hours and I’m tired.”

 

But Peter doesn’t seem to care about his father’s pleas. Instead, the little boy screams even louder, the sound echoing in Tony’s ears as the man winces. Adjusting his baby in his arms, the billionaire gently wipes away Peter’s tears, cooing softly when the young Stark whines.

 

“I know.” Tony says, smoothing back Peter’s soft curls. “It’s so hard being 2 months old, trust me, _bambo_ , I know.”

 

Peter waves one chubby fist, as though agreeing with his father’s words. Tony laughs softly, dabbing away the spit that dribbles down his baby’s chin, watching as Peter’s doe eyes blink up at him. They are currently in Peter’s nursery, the normally soft lavender walls cast in a pale gray-blue as Tony paces around the room.

 

Walking over to the window, Tony glances out at the dark New York skyline, the far off lights twinkling like low leveled stars. A sudden tap against his arc reactor, however,r has the genius looking down, a soft smile tugging at his lips at the sight.

 

Peter, tear tracks glitenting against his baby cheeks, is blinking at the blue light. He raises one hand, his tiny fingers tapping against the reactor as he babbles quietly.

 

Tony swallows, blinking back his own sudden tears as he leans down, pressing his lips against his baby’s forehead. Peter quirms a bit at the scratch of his dad’s goatee, his little nose wrinkling.

 

“That’s Daddy’s nightlight, Petey.” Tony whispers, voice choked. “It keeps us safe, baby. As long as you see this light, nothing bad will _ever_ happen to you, I promise.”

 

Peter just gurgles, nuzzling his little head closer to his father and yawning. He blinks a few times, smacking his lips and cooing. Tony grabs onto his son’s hand, allowing the baby to wrap his tiny fingers around the man’s own larger one.

 

“I love you, sweetheart, so much.”

 

The billionaire presses a soft kiss against Peter’s knuckles, resting the young Stark’s small fist against his heart and rocks them from side to side. Tony hums under his breath, feeling his child’s breathing finally even out as he escapes to dreamland once more.

 

Tony stands there for a while, the carpet soft under his bare feet. He breathes in time with Peter, his son’s little body a comforting weight against his chest, the rise and fall of his exhales tickling the man’s neck.

 

Tony knows that he should get back to bed, that he should put Peter back into his crib and get at least a few more hours of sleep while he can. Lord knows he will be feeling it in the morning.

 

But the man can’t force himself too. At least not right now. Not when his son is safe in his arms, his little fists pulling at Tony’s shirt and his curls smelling of baby powder and something distinctly _Peter_ ; when he is making small sniffling sounds and his button nose flares with each deep inhale.

 

God, Tony has never loved anyone more. It pulls at his heart, weighs him down in a way that the man never know was even possible. He nearly drowns in the emotion, his eyes misting even as he cuddles his baby closer.  

 

But if this was the way Tony is to go, he never wants to come up for air.


	6. Prompt #6: PETER WEARS TONY'S SWEATSHIRTS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter is a little sweatshirt thief and Tony is fondly exasperated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOP okay I am SO SORRY for such a long wait guys. Real life kicked my ass and just oof yeah it was A LOT but I'm back now and I hope the glorious amounts of fluff in this chapter can make up for my hiatus. <3 Thank you for sticking with me and for all the love and support! :D
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Spider-Man or any related materials.

* * *

It started with one sweatshirt.

 

 

Granted, it was the one all the way in the back of Tony’s closet, one of his old MIT ones with a hole in the sleeve and a stain that the billionaire could never get all the way out no matter how many times it went through the wash. 

 

 

Peter stumbles into the kitchen, his hair wild and his eyes still blurry with sleep. Tony, glancing up from his coffee pot, smiles at the boy, reaching over to gently brush a stray curl behind his son’s ear once Peter gets close enough. 

 

 

Weekends when his son gets to stay at the Tower are always the best and never fail to make Tony as much of a morning person as he physically can be while still retaining his “grumpy dad image.”

 

 

When does he ever, though?

 

 

“Sleep well, buddy?” Tony asks, grabbing the milk from the fridge when Peter makes grabby hands. 

 

 

The teen nods, using the extra long sleeve of the sweatshirt to wipe at his eyes, blinking. “Yeah, had a weird dream, though. Something about dinosaurs, I think, and-and jet skees.” 

 

 

Tony snorts. “Sounds strange, kiddo.”

 

 

“You got Lucky Charms right?” Peter sits in his usual chair, scooting up until he can rest his arms on the table and his head in his arms. “Right?” 

 

 

Tony grabs the box, shaking the cereal for emphasis. “Of course! What sort of father would I be to deny my son his favorite morning sugar intake?”

 

 

“A horrible o-one, Dad, truly horren--” Peter yawns, his snippy remark getting cut in half as he slumps even further forward. “--horrendous.”

 

 

“Don’t fall asleep at the table, kiddie. I don’t want to have to clean up your drool from the wood again.” 

 

 

Tony shakes his head, placing a bowl and spoon in front of his son and pretending to not notice the way the boy has to push up the sleeves of his sweatshirt in order to properly grab the utensil. _Truly adorable._

 

 

“That was one time.”

 

 

“Potato, tomato.”

 

 

“That’s not how the saying goes. Aunt May might be right about the dad jokes after all--”

 

 

“Maybe this time I’ll just let you lay in your own drool then. You’ll wake up all sticky and gross and cranky because you spilled milk all over your face.” Tony pauses, setting his now empty coffee cup down. “Actually, scratch that, that’s not a good idea for me either.”

 

 

Peter smirks, sitting up and pushing more cereal into his mouth, milk smearing around his nose and Tony reaches over to gently dab it away, laughing when Peter glares at him. 

 

 

“Why? Because you love me so much?”

 

 

“No, because then I would have to listen to you whine about it.” 

 

 

Peter grumbles, swirling a star-shaped marshmellow around until it gets mushy enough for him to squash against the side of his bowl. Tony reaches over and gently ruffles Peter’s hair, his grin of amusement turning softer when his son leans into the touch with a tired sigh. 

 

 

“Do you want to help me out in the lab today, buddy?”  

 

 

“Duh!”

 

 

And if that doesn’t get Peter to wake up in the blink of an eye, nothing will.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The next time, it’s another older sweatshirt. A red one that’s almost completely white from the wash, wrinkled in the front with smudges of cookie crumbs. The exact same one Tony had worn during a movie night just last week. 

 

 

The time after that, it’s one that Tony didn’t even realize he owned, one with his own superhero logo printed on the front in gigantic golden lettering. 

 

 

Peter had bounded down the stairs of his and May’s apartment in it, pushing on his sneakers as Tony opened the passenger door of his car. Peter was stumbling, spilling apologies for his apparent lateness with a speed that could rival a professional rapper. 

 

 

“It’s fine, buddy, just please get in the car before we cause more of a traffic jam.” Tony had said, practically pushing his still rambling kid into the seat. “Make sure to buckle up.” 

 

 

Peter began talking about his latest decathlon practice once Tony started the engine and the billionaire's question about the origin of his son’s sweatshirt was swept away. 

 

 

Finally, though, Tony can’t keep his curiosity silent any longer.

 

 

This one’s newer, black with a little yellow bee in the middle of the chest and the caption _“I’m all the buzz”_ etched on the back. Tony had only gotten it because it was so tacky, something that the media would have a field day with the second they managed to snap a picture of him in it. 

 

 

Luckily (or unluckily depending on how you look at it), Tony forgot all about it once he got down into his lab, too caught up in tinkering on his latest project. 

 

 

He nearly does a double-take when his kid walks through the door.

 

 

The sweatshirt, admirably on the large size on Tony, when he actually slipped it on in the Walmart dressing room, is _huge_ on Peter.

 

 

It basically engulfs the boy, the hem dropping almost below the teenager’s knees as Peter pads with the grace of a puppy to his own workbench, looking toward his father-figure only long enough to flash him a blinding grin before he’s leaned over his school project. 

 

 

His son looks fucking _adorable_. 

 

 

Still, Tony is frozen, his wrench held halfway between his broken repulsors and the tabletop as he watches Peter absentmindedly push up his sleeves. 

 

 

“Is that my sweatshirt?”

 

 

It’s blurted out before Tony’s even aware he’s speaking and the genius snaps his mouth shut with an audible _click_ as Peter jerks up, almost dropping his pencil. He whips around to stare at Tony, his doe eyes wide.

 

 

“Uh,” The boy swallows. “Um, what? I--uh, n-no--”

 

 

_Might as well take the plunge then._

 

 

Tony raises an eyebrow, leaning forward in his seat. “Oh really, Pete? And the one last week wasn’t mine either, and the one before that--oh, yeah, and the one _before_ that? Really, bubba, I could go on for hours, so let’s just skip the rambling, huh?” 

 

 

Peter opens his mouth, bunching up the sleeves of his sweatshirt as he clenches his fists, but lowers his head with a sigh when Tony crosses his arms. 

 

 

“Fine, _fine_! Yes, it’s your sweatshirt but-but before you get angry, just hear me out okay? It’s soft and comfy and was just k-kinda laying on the table upstairs and I don’t know, I like the little bee dude and--” 

 

 

Tony laughs, effectively cutting his son off. “Kiddo, I’m not mad, just sort of--Confused, I guess?”

 

 

Peter blushes even harder, hiding his face in the sweater paws created by his oversized sweatshirt. His voice comes out muffled by the fabric.  “ ‘Bout what?” 

 

 

“Why do you feel the need to take my hoodies, bud? Do I need to take you shopping again?”

 

 

Peter jerks up. “No! No shopping please, Dad, that’s _so boring--_ ”

 

 

“Then tell me why.”

 

 

“ ‘ _Ain’t nothin but a heartache--’_ ”

 

 

“Peter.”

 

 

Peter groans, hiding his face again. “It’s embarrassing and I didn’t even think you’d notice.”

 

 

“That half my closet is going missing? Try again, Petey-Pie.” 

 

 

“Ah, well--” Removing his hands from his red face, the teenager fiddles with a loose bolt on the table, twirling it until it spins out of his hands and bounces along the floor. “--I-I, uh, I like the way they-they smell.”

 

 

Tony blinks. “You like the way they _smell?_ ” 

 

 

Peter shrugs, looking everywhere but where Tony sits. “Yes! D-Don’t rub it in, okay? Just--They smell like you and you make me feel safe cause you’re my _Dad_ , and so they make me feel safe and yeah I don’t know, please tell me to just shut up before I run out of air--” 

 

 

Swallowing, Tony gently reaches out, crossing the few feet to stand next to Peter’s chair, watching as the boy ducks down further in shame. His sweatshirt, the tacky bee still smiling, wrinkles and Tony smooths his hand gently down his son’s back, Peter jerking at the touch.  

 

 

“Wha--?”

 

 

“If you’re gonna steal my shirts, _bambino_ , I’m at least going to be there to witness the thievery.” 

  
  


* * *

  
  


And so that was how both father and son found themselves standing inside of Tony’s walk-in closet, stacks of new and old sweatshirts piled around them.

 

 

“. . .are you sure you want me to take _all_ of these, Dad?” Peter asks as he grabs another hoodie, this one purple, from the shelf above him, placing it in the KEEP pile.

 

 

Tony holds up an old, black sweatshirt, pulling at the collar. “Of course, kiddo. I’ve been meaning to clean out these old ones anyways, and I would rather they go to you then be sold on Ebay for a million dollars.”

 

 

“A-A million dollars?!”

 

 

Tony laughs, setting his sweatshirt in the TRASH pile before moving onto the next one, this one red and green with little reindeers on the sleeves. He grimaces, putting it beside the other one. Remind him to never make another last minute, drunken Christmas shopping trip ever again.

 

 

“Yep. One time, I think it was about 8 or 9 years ago, a woman got one of my hairs stuck on her sleeve when I passed her in the subway. The next day I went online to see that I was trending and she was trying to sell the hair-- _one hair_ \--for $50,000. Had it in a little gold zip-lock baggie and everything.” 

 

 

Peter blinks, eyeing the piles around them. “Whoah.”

 

 

Standing up, his knees cracking, Tony chuckles. “Yeah, bubba, it was crazy. Anyways, you think we got all the hoodies your little spider heart desires?”

 

 

Peter stands up as well, coming to rest against Tony’s side as he nods. Tony, his heart melting when his son yawns, wraps an arm around the boy’s thin shoulders, holding him close as they both grab their respective piles, quickly transferring all the KEEP ones to Peter’s room across the hall.  

 

 

The ones in the TRASH piles are anonymously donated to a local homeless shelter, Tony double checking to make sure that the truck will stop by the Tower early the next morning.

 

 

By the time they finally managed to squeeze onto the couch, the TV turned on and a cartoon movie-- _Mulan,_ Tony thinks--playing in the background, Peter is almost asleep on his feet. 

 

 

“Tired, bambi?” Tony asks, reaching out and gently pulling Peter against his side, brushing away his son’s curls with a gentle swipe of his fingers. 

 

 

Peter just nods, cuddling closer. He’s wearing a new sweatshirt now, this one red and gold with an Iron Man helmet on the front. Tony isn’t sure if it was his or Peter’s but finds that he loves it just the same. Peter rests his head against Tony’s chest, right next to the soft glow of the Arc Reactor. His eyes reflect the blue light when he blinks up at his father. 

 

 

“Thanks, Dad.” He whispers, curling his legs up onto the cushion beside him, the leather squeaking. 

 

 

Tony adjusts them, moving Peter’s head so that he can lean down and press a soft kiss against the spiderling’s temple. Peter leans into the touch with a sigh and Tony, once again, feels his chest bloom with parental love. 

 

 

“What for?” 

 

 

“Just-- _everything._ ” 

 

 

Tony hums. “You’re very welcome, kiddo.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos make my day and comments fuel my writing ;D


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